the Da Via family, even though the marriage had been in the works since she was eight. Her father valued the wood imported from Deltegra more than any other commodity, and Deltegra needed the protection a bond with Burchess would bring. But apparently, the two kings could not look past their differences even though a union would profit them both greatly. And neither king took into account the fact that the young prince and princess seemed to be fond of each other and would actually have been very happy in marriage. Illianah’s anger over the lily was then replaced with sadness; sadness for what may have been, as well as sadness for the losses within the house of Da Via. Illianah considered herself to be privileged that she had been spared the pain of losing loved ones. Her own mother had died during childbirth, and while Illianah often felt the emptiness in her heart from not having a mother, she never had shed tears over her mother’s death.
Illianah had another reason to be sad for Prince Donovan: she knew the pressure of providing an heir and she wondered if it loomed over Donovan with the same bleakness that seemed to cast a shadow across her womb. Although, she did realize she had one less concern than Donovan did; Illianah no longer had to worry about whom she would be forced to marry. She wondered if Donovan would have any say in the matter, and if he did, who would he choose to provide him with offspring?
After just minutes of thinking along those lines, Illianah became angry again and realizing her own jealousy made her blood boil even hotter.
Illianah carefully drew a sketch of the weeping cherry blossoms before she began her embroidery. She decided that there needed to be enough cherry blossoms to cover the remaining space on the tapestry, covering the spot where the lily had once been. This made her smile with satisfaction. It did not leave a space for whomever it was that would become Donovan’s bride. Her deliberate pattern on the tapestry was the only vengeance she would be allotted.
Three days after she began stitching the cherry blossoms, she felt brave enough to work on her needlepoint in the solar. She sat by the window and busied her hands, and after quite some time, Donovan entered the room, just as she hoped he would. He approached and said, “I see someone has stolen my favorite seat.” But a soft smile was upon his lips as he said this, indicating he had no real objection to her sitting there.
“I need good light,” she replied.
He came close enough to take one corner of the tapestry in his hand. Having him stand so near left her breathless, but she was also holding her breath in hopes that he would approve of her handiwork.
“It is lovely. Your stitches are every bit as elegant as mother’s,” he said, almost in reverence.
“Thank you, Donovan,” she replied.
He righted himself and looked as if he had turned into a ridged wooden beam. She quickly panicked. “Is it all right that I call you by your Christian name? Your mother was right, you are not a Henrick.”
The corners of his mouth tugged at a reluctant smile, but his eyes still held an immense sadness. “Only my mother called me Donovan. It is a bit shocking to hear it fall upon my ears after such a lengthy silence. But you may call me whatever you wish, as long as you do not use words like barbaric, or say that you hate me.”
She fought the urge to smile freely, yet her heart overpowered her face. “Ah, so you do remember how to smile,” he said. This made her smile even more, although her mind was telling her she was behaving foolishly and in a manner very unbecoming a married princess—a married princess who was being held captive by her enemies, nonetheless.
Donovan sat in a chair near the hearth and began to read some parchments. He continued to smile as he read. “Good news?” she inquired.
“Yes. Very. The battle at the border has been entirely in our favor.”
His good news should have been her bad news,
Illianah had another reason to be sad for Prince Donovan: she knew the pressure of providing an heir and she wondered if it loomed over Donovan with the same bleakness that seemed to cast a shadow across her womb. Although, she did realize she had one less concern than Donovan did; Illianah no longer had to worry about whom she would be forced to marry. She wondered if Donovan would have any say in the matter, and if he did, who would he choose to provide him with offspring?
After just minutes of thinking along those lines, Illianah became angry again and realizing her own jealousy made her blood boil even hotter.
Illianah carefully drew a sketch of the weeping cherry blossoms before she began her embroidery. She decided that there needed to be enough cherry blossoms to cover the remaining space on the tapestry, covering the spot where the lily had once been. This made her smile with satisfaction. It did not leave a space for whomever it was that would become Donovan’s bride. Her deliberate pattern on the tapestry was the only vengeance she would be allotted.
Three days after she began stitching the cherry blossoms, she felt brave enough to work on her needlepoint in the solar. She sat by the window and busied her hands, and after quite some time, Donovan entered the room, just as she hoped he would. He approached and said, “I see someone has stolen my favorite seat.” But a soft smile was upon his lips as he said this, indicating he had no real objection to her sitting there.
“I need good light,” she replied.
He came close enough to take one corner of the tapestry in his hand. Having him stand so near left her breathless, but she was also holding her breath in hopes that he would approve of her handiwork.
“It is lovely. Your stitches are every bit as elegant as mother’s,” he said, almost in reverence.
“Thank you, Donovan,” she replied.
He righted himself and looked as if he had turned into a ridged wooden beam. She quickly panicked. “Is it all right that I call you by your Christian name? Your mother was right, you are not a Henrick.”
The corners of his mouth tugged at a reluctant smile, but his eyes still held an immense sadness. “Only my mother called me Donovan. It is a bit shocking to hear it fall upon my ears after such a lengthy silence. But you may call me whatever you wish, as long as you do not use words like barbaric, or say that you hate me.”
She fought the urge to smile freely, yet her heart overpowered her face. “Ah, so you do remember how to smile,” he said. This made her smile even more, although her mind was telling her she was behaving foolishly and in a manner very unbecoming a married princess—a married princess who was being held captive by her enemies, nonetheless.
Donovan sat in a chair near the hearth and began to read some parchments. He continued to smile as he read. “Good news?” she inquired.
“Yes. Very. The battle at the border has been entirely in our favor.”
His good news should have been her bad news,
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